


A Prison of The Mind

by woshuwoo



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: All the time Sherlock almost dies and where he goes, He keeps Moriarty in a cell in his mind palace what did you expect, Jim Moriarty - Freeform, John Watson - Freeform, Other, Sherlock Holmes - Freeform, Sherlock doesnt beg for mercy until he does, Sherlocks mind palace, the whole mary shooting sherlock scene is altered a bit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-21
Updated: 2016-04-21
Packaged: 2018-06-03 14:12:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,156
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6613753
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/woshuwoo/pseuds/woshuwoo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock has almost died an alarming number of times, and always goes to the same place. A room, more like a cell really. It's the worst place he can imagine. His very own Hell.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Prison of The Mind

Sherlock wasn't desperate, never had been. He would not beg, he would not. 

The first time he had almost died, Sherlock was 14 and three boys from class (who happened to be 2 years older than him and much much stronger) had picked him up by his arms and legs and threw him in a swimming pool. Sherlock could swim, just not very well and the feeling of water filling his lungs had been the most terrifying experience of his life. When the edges of his vision began to darken, he closed up his consciousness and retreated in to his mind palace. He was kneeling in a hallway with dim, flickering fluorescent lights. He'd pushed himself up to stand and looked around. He'd never seen this place before and jumped when the lights began to go out. Something deep inside him told him that if he was caught in the dark, something terrible would happen. So he ran. He ran as fast as he could towards the door at the end of the hall. When he slammed against it, it gave no resistance and he tumbled to the floor, the door slamming shut behind him. When he looked up he was in a pristine room with white walls and floors and no windows. When he turned around the seams of the doors had disappeared.

"No." He whispered. He banged on the door and yelled, slamming fists and open palms on the walls. He dug his fingers into the plush cushions of the walls but for the life of him couldn't get out. He drooped to the ground and pulled his knees to his chest but he did not cry. He refused to cry. If he was to be trapped, alone in this room for the rest of his life then he would not become weak. Suddenly, anger flushed through him and he pushed up to stand.

"God damn it!" He cursed and kicked the wall. When his shoe made impact the walls fell away and he was being pulled through blackness into light. He sat up, spluttering and coughing on the concrete next the the pool soaking wet. A teacher was standing over him with her hands on her heart.

"Oh Lord I'll call an ambulance." 

Sherlock pushed his way up and past her and sprinted home.

 

The second time he almost died, he was 23 and alone. He'd turned to drugs. His system was over run and he'd slipped into consciousnesses after taking a concoction of heroine and pain killers. This time, he was already in the room, but it was smaller now, dirtier. This time he didn't care. He lied down on the ground and scratched his fingers against the ground. Mycroft's voice filled the room as if from a speaker and told him all the ways he was a disappointment. His fingers began to bleed.

 

The third time he almost died he was 37 and was facing the biggest betrayal of his life. Mary was going to kill him. Mary was going to kill her husband's best friend. She was going to do the only thing Sherlock would never let happen, she was going to hurt John. The bullet buried itself in his chest and he was gone. His mind went into overdrive sending any person it could to tell Sherlock how to survive. 

/Fall backwards fall backwards fall backwards./

He fell backwards. 

The hall. He was in the hall but the lights were on this time. Redbeard bounded towards him. Sherlock's heart surged as he held the dog in his arms. They were putting him down too. Sherlock stood again and went to the door. This was where he was supposed to go and he knew it.

When he pushed open the door, he regretted it immediately. The room was dark and dank. There was a figure curled against the wall looking just like Sherlock did the first time he'd been in the room.

The man lunged at him, stopping just short and pulling against the chains that held him to the wall. 

Moriarty.

Moriarty screamed at him, told him how disappointed he was (Mycroft's voice and the smell of the rubbery ground mingling with the metallic scent of his blood filled his memory).

"It's raining, its pouring, Sherlock is boring!" Moriarty sang and swayed on his chains.

"I'm laughing, I'm crying, Sheerrlloockk is dyyiinngg..." He laughed and Sherlock fell to the ground. As he clutched his head, Moriarty began to recite all the people that would cry when he died. Molly, Mrs. Hudson, Mummy and Daddy.

"and John will cry buckets and buckets!"

Sherlock cringed. Was this his death? Was this is very own version of Hell, of the After Life? Doomed to be taunted by his worst enemy?

"John Watson is definitely in daanngeerr." Moriarty's sing-song voice sent off every remaining alarm in Sherlocks head. 

/Get up. GET UP!/ 

He would not let John get hurt.

 

The last time Sherlock almost died, there was no almost. With the cold metal of a gun pressed against his temple and the growling voice of the huge, greasy man he'd chased down an alley as a suspect for murder in his ear. This was how he would die. Not fighting Moriarty, not saving anyone. He would die in a dark alley by the hands of an insignificant killer.

As the mans elbow dug further into his stomach, he heard Johns voice. The man sucked in a breath through his nose and cursed. He pulled the trigger.

Sherlock was conscious, which wasn't possible as he was dead. He was breathing and he didn't even need to open his eyes to know he was in the room again. His brain should have been destroyed by the bullet and yet was still functional enough to force him into the darkest parts of his mind palace. There was no after life so there was no way this could be possible, and yet he was breathing, Moriarty cackling beside him.

"Ooooohh yes!" He clapped in delight, the shackles rattling. "You're here! Oh how wonderful is this! We'll be here forever and ever, you and I. Forever and ever and ever and ever and eveerrr!"

Sherlock forced his eyes to open. The once pristine walls were almost black with age and soot. Streaks of what he guessed to be dried blood smeared the walls, centered mostly around where Moriarty's head would rest against the wall.

Moriarty's mad laughter started again. 

"We can spend the rest of eternity together! Won't that be fun, Sherlock?" 

He would not beg. He had never begged. There was no one to beg to.

"Sherly-werly do you think John will miss you? And his beautiful daughter? Hardly old enough to remember you. Maybe not. But I remember you. I remember everything ."

"Please." Sherlock whispered.

"Oh this will be so much fun fun FUN!" Moriarty fell backwards holding his stomach laughing like a madman.

Sherlock screamed.


End file.
